


Take my love wherever you are

by BubblySage



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst and Feels, Gift Work, M/M, Novelist!Viktor, Seasons of Anime Exchange 2018, Writer!Yuuri, not fluff at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-04 05:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15835155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubblySage/pseuds/BubblySage
Summary: What if Viktor and Yuuri met in 19th century London?





	Take my love wherever you are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> For gruziya, who wanted sad storylines. I enjoyed the song (Wandering-Jufus), thank you for introducing it to me! I hope you like this :-)
> 
> This is my first time writing for the YOI fandom so I hope I was able to give justice to the pairing you wanted.
> 
> My inspiration for this is One for Sorrow by STEPS

 

“Young master, another package has arrived for you!”

The fragrant scent of flowers accompanies the servant who walks into the room. She places the vase full of white lilies in full bloom on a round, wooden table. After taking care to ensure nothing is amiss with the flower arrangement, she gives a slight curtsey at the figure seated on the settee by the window, then she turns and heads for the door. Nodding at the butler, who returns the gesture with a slight nod of his own, she puts her hand on the handle of the heavy wooden door.

Soft strums of piano interspersed with hushed murmurings permeate the silence of the room the moment the servant pulls the door open, but it quickly vanishes along with her departure, plunging the room into silence once more. The butler stares at the door for a few moments before heaving a huge sigh and straightening up. He clutches the paper in his hands, not too tightly lest the pages wrinkle, and crosses the length of the small sitting room.

The butler stands a few feet from the ornate settee set beneath huge bay windows. He clears his throat. Silence. He clears his throat a little louder. The figure stirs slightly. The butler heaves another sigh. “Young master, the guests have started arriving and are waiting downstairs. They are presently being entertained by your parents—” The butler might as well not exist for all the attention the figure seated on the settee is paying to him.

Suddenly, long, bony fingers reach out and grab the paper from the butler’s hands. ‘The Local Daily’ is printed in large, bold letters atop the front page. The butler, being used to this erratic behavior, doesn’t even bat an eyelash. He simply pauses in his speech as his eyes flit over to his young charge before he resumes speaking. “—but they expect you to make an appearance soon. The ceremony will start promptly at—”

As the butler drones on about the schedule for the day, he chances a glance at his young charge’s face. The sight he sees is one to behold—eyes the color of the sea on a clear sunny day sparkle with excitement as they stare with rapt attention at the piece of paper in their hands. The butler could only surmise what the contents are, but if he would hazard a guess, he would bet that it has something to do with the boy from a year ago.

***

_“… therefore I say, this novel, like all the masterful ones that came before it, is, at its core, a singular work of art, a rare insight into our historical heritage, and a veritable font of inspiration that will surely leave its own legacy in the world. Another masterpiece from who is notably the greatest novelist of our present time. We wait with bated breath for what is to come next.”_

_The light-haired young man turns to the dog slumped on the floor, “Did you hear that Makka-chin? I am a ‘veritable font of inspiration!’ Whatever that means!”_

_The dog lifts its head from its previous position on the floor and stares at its master. As though sensing its master’s emotion, the dog gives a small whine. At hearing the sound, the light-haired young man’s shoulders droop, and the phony smile on his face disappears._

_“What am I doing with my life, Makka-chin?” More whining noises are heard, and the dog finally gets up and walks over to its master. The young man picks up his dog and buries his face into its soft fur. “Nothing makes sense anymore.”_

_The door to the room suddenly slams open. “Viktor, old chap! Boy, have I got something for you!”_

_At the sound of the newcomer’s voice, the dog wiggles free from its master’s embrace and jumps down to the floor. It approaches the newcomer, tail wagging excitedly. The young man looks on in abject boredom as the newcomer pets the dog. “Chris, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”_

_The newcomer, Chris, a Swiss novelist with short blonde hair, looks up and smiles. “Do you remember your first novel?”_

_“Is that a rhetorical question or an existential one?”_

_Chris merely grins at the other. “I will let that one slide. Your novel which left a conundrum in the literary world, and which no sane person would want to touch… that novel was easily picked apart by a hereto unknown writer from the boonies.”_

_He felt his heart skip a beat, but he quells it down. He gets up from his perch on the edge of his writing table and makes his way towards Chris. The blonde Swiss grins wider and stands. He pulls a piece of folded paper from the pocket of his pants and holds it out. “See for yourself.”_

_The young man gingerly takes the piece of paper and unfolds it. His eyes quickly sweep over its contents and with each passing second, he feels more enraptured as if someone has reached into his very being and has taken hold of his beating heart. His eyes look up from the paper and into the sparkling hazel ones of Chris. He doesn’t have to say the words, he knows Chris already understands._

_“I have already arranged passage for us,” Chris says and then looks down at the paper on the other young man’s hands. “Keep that. I’ll come round again after supper.”_

_He nods and looks back down at the piece of paper. His eyes scan the letters printed on the top. Katsuki Yuuri. ‘Well, Katsuki Yuuri, it looks like I shall have to see for myself, won’t I?’_

***

Viktor Nikiforov, celebrated novelist of his time, a tall, imposing figure at nearly six feet, with a face that could stop traffic at Grand Central, is either about to self-combust or die in a puddle on the floor. At least that's the view from where the butler is. The young master is cornered and surrounded by a gaggle of tittering young ladies, who are currently fawning over him. Viktor for his part is standing there with a sheepish look on his face. The butler knows that Viktor rarely reveals his real emotions on his face, so for all the world knows Viktor is laughing but inside he could very well be crying.

“Mister Nikiforov,” a young woman, with auburn curls and holding a book to her chest, comes up the group. The other ladies become silent, and Viktor turns his gaze to her. Twin rosy hues bloom on her delicate cheeks, and she lowers her gaze shyly. “Would you mind signing my copy of one of your novels?”

“It would be my utter pleasure, my dear lady.”

The young woman's blush deepens and the other ladies surrounding Viktor part amicably to allow her to step closer. She holds out the book to Viktor endearingly. “It's ‘The Gladstone Journals’—it's my absolute favorite.”

The butler watches with fascination as Viktor’s eyes flicker with emotion, and he stops midway from reaching for the book; his hand jerks away slightly as if scalded. After a moment, he collects himself and takes the proffered book. He turns it right side up and stares at the cover for a moment. His eyes shimmer with deep emotions, and he looks up with a start when the young lady calls out his name.

“Does anyone have a pen? I, ah, seem to have misplaced mine.” As Viktor pats the front of his suit in search of a pen, the butler sidles up to him brandishing one, which Viktor accepts with a slight nod of his head. The butler nods in return and scoots backward to blend into the corner once more. He eyes Viktor with slight amusement, knowing full well that Viktor definitely has a pen in his suit pocket; he is a novelist, he never goes without one! The butler thinks that his young charge’s momentary shock must have been brought about by the mention of his first novel.

***

_“Tell me again what you wanted to write about.”_

_After spending nearly a decade of his life being a novelist and having already achieved what most of his peers would say as the pinnacle of his career, Viktor is pleasantly surprised to learn that someone has been able to interpret the conundrum in his very first novel. The interpretation is so accurate that, to Viktor, it could even be said to be better than the original._

_He thus finds himself in a small inn located on the outskirts of London, where Yuuri Katsuki currently resides. After reading the young man’s writings, Viktor decides to be his mentor. He sees immense potential in Yuuri and is often captivated by the latter’s views on a variety of topics—ranging from something as highbrow as politics to trivial matters like the latest society gossip._

_Viktor stares as Yuuri’s round brown eyes widen in response to his earlier statement. He finds it amusing how Yuuri pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and averts his eyes from him. Despite the nearly three months, they have spent together, Yuuri is still awkward and shy around him. “It’s about this newbie writer, who is struggling to write her first novel…”_

_“Go on.” Viktor encourages when Yuuri pauses and looks tentatively at him. The blush adorning the young man’s face makes the corners of his lips quirk upwards. Viktor lazily leans against the nearby table, puts his elbow on the top and cradles his face in the palm of one hand._

_“She—the writer I mean—meets one of her literary hero, a celebrated novelist, by chance. They strike up a friendship, and he makes her his protégé. In the course of their professional relationship, she falls in love with him.”_

_Viktor doesn’t even try to hide the smile on his face. “You know this story is vaguely familiar.” He then makes a show of placing a finger under his chin as if in deep thought. “Now where have I heard of this scenario before? Hmmm…” His eyes roll upward as he adopts a thinking pose and then he shifts his gaze at Yuuri, his sea-green eyes boring into Yuuri’s coffee-brown ones with enough intensity to put the summer heat to shame._

_Yuuri holds his gaze for a few seconds, and then he blushes bright red, he might as well have resembled a tomato at that point. He opens his mouth to refute Viktor’s line of thought but ends up stammering. “Vi—Viktor, it’s not—that’s not—”_

_The sound of laughter fills the room as Viktor throws his head back, exposing the strong column of his throat, while the soft breeze ruffles stray strands of his light hair. When he straightens up, he sees Yuuri staring at him, mouth slightly agape, eyes twinkling with what he could only hope is wonder. He must’ve been a sight. Letting the warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest settle to his stomach, Viktor resumes his lazy thinking position but doesn’t remove his gaze from Yuuri’s. “Pray tell, what happens afterward? Does he fall in love with her?”_

_The blush now spreads from Yuuri’s cheeks to the tips of his ears and Viktor is suddenly overcome with the strongest urge to reach over and smooth the wayward lock of hair that has fallen across the young man’s forehead. He doesn’t give in, of course, and he has to clear his thoughts to hear Yuuri’s response. “Well, she hopes that he does.” He hears the young man say in a small voice. Then he shyly looks up at him, eyes flickering with an emotion Viktor couldn’t place. “Hope springs eternal, after all.”_

_Then Yuuri smiles at him and Viktor knows he could get lost in that smile for all eternity._

***

The door opens, breaking the heavy silence hanging inside the room. The butler looks up from his position against one side of the room and sees Mila, the young master’s elder sister, walk in.

“What are you doing here, Mila? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, powdering your nose or something?”

Mila rolls her eyes drolly at her brother and the butler coughs lightly against the back of one hand to hide the smile on his lips. “Vitya, turn around and let me see you!”

Viktor takes a deep breath and pauses in his preparations. He makes a dismissing motion with his hand, effectively sending the servants helping him prepare for the ceremony away. He tugs at the lapels of his suit, pulling it taut against his shoulders and back. Then he turns around and Mila immediate coos and sighs over him. Viktor allows a small smile, and he lets his sister fix his cravat.

The butler looks on as Viktor’s eyes seem to glaze over with the motion, and he surmises that the young master must be having another flashback.

***

_“Yuuri, please keep still.” The sound of muttering and grumbling, and if Viktor is going, to be honest with himself, probably some cursing too could be heard in the small shop._

_“I don’t really understand why we need to do this, Viktor.” Yuuri then attempts to pull at the shirt opening at his throat. The haberdasher, most likely having anticipated that behavior, swats his hand away in time._

_Viktor chuckles from his seat on the sofa. Yuuri glares at him, which only serves to further his amusement. Then Yuuri lifts a hand and blows a raspberry at Viktor._

_“Master Katsuki, if you will please!”_

_Yuuri sighs as he drops his hands and throws his head back in exasperation. He stands limply as the haberdasher moves about pinning folds of clothing around his body._

_Viktor, who has been carefully eyeing the tailoring, suddenly finds it uncomfortable to remain seated. He stands from his seat and looks out the window. “Yuuri, we’ve talked about this.” He leans against a wall and crosses his arms. “This is a big deal. Your novel is getting a citation.”_

_“I know that. But why the fu—” The haberdasher glares at him sharply from his spot on the floor. “—fudge do I have to wear these clothes?” His voice comes out tinny, and Viktor chuckles once more. Yuuri is obviously whining, and yet Viktor finds it utterly adorable._

_“If you want to be taken seriously as a novelist, if you want to convince society—these people with money—to buy your novels, then you have to dress the part.” A part of himself scoffs at his own statement. Viktor knows how phony his statement is, but he also knows how pretentious and judgmental society can be, especially to those they deem unworthy._

_The haberdasher finally stands and then pivots Yuuri around, as if he were a doll being presented to Viktor. The metaphor isn’t lost on Viktor though because he gasps and straightens up from his spot against the wall. His eyes sweep slowly over Yuuri from head to toe and then back up to meet his eyes. Viktor smiles at the redness on the young man’s face, though his eyes have a steely look as if silently commanding Viktor not to make fun of him. Right at that moment, making fun of Yuuri is the farthest thing on his mind._

_“Well then!” The haberdasher’s booming voice startles Viktor. “I shall have the first piece ready within a fortnight as agreed.”_

_Viktor tears his gaze away from the sight of Yuuri’s body wrapped in all that expensive cloth and gives a small nod to the haberdasher. He looks back at Yuuri, who has turned away and is checking himself out in the mirror. The curve of his backside against the tailored pants sends another wave of heat rolling off Viktor, and he turns away before he embarrasses himself. He then starts to wonder how he can stay sane seated next to Yuuri for the duration of an entire meal._

_***_

There are more guests milling in the foyer now, and the butler takes out his fob watch and checks the time. The ceremony will start soon, and he should go and collect the young master. He tucks the watch back inside the pocket of his suit and then makes his way to the young master’s chambers.

He pauses just outside the door, takes a deep breath, and the knocks three times on the door. “Master Viktor, the ceremony is about to start.” He pauses and listens for any command or movement, and upon hearing nothing, he raps three times in quick succession at the door once more. “Master Viktor, I am coming in.”

Silence greets him as he enters. He closes the door behind him and crosses the antechamber and into the main bedroom. He finds Viktor presently leaning against his dresser bureau, staring at the small box sitting innocently on top. The butler does not have to peer closer to know what is inside the box, after all, he remembers bringing that very same box himself. Before he could announce himself, he sees the young master open one of the bureau’s drawers. He then reaches inside, and after a few seconds, something wooden makes a cracking sound. When Viktor finally withdraws his hand, he is clutching a small, nondescript box.

The butler makes the presumption that the box must be very precious to be kept in a secret panel in the young master’s bureau. Viktor removes the lid and pulls out a simple silver chain, weighted on one end by a gold ring. It is rather unfortunate for the butler that Viktor realizes then that he isn’t alone. He closes his palm around the necklace and pulls his hand closer to his body as if shielding it from view.

Viktor turns his head slightly towards the butler, “I shall be down presently. Leave me until then.”

Naturally obeying the young master’s request, the butler bows and turns to leave. When he turns the corner, he sees Viktor from the corner of his eyes, staring forlornly at the object clasped in his hand.

_***_

_It is raining cats and dogs that evening following a very sunny afternoon—nothing unusual for London weather. Viktor is sitting at the table steeping his tea and waiting for Yuuri. He checks his watch casually and tells himself to remain calm._

_He hears the door open, and Viktor nearly shoots out from his seat. He crosses over to the entranceway to find a sopping wet Yuuri shaking off water from his clothes. Yuuri’s hair is nearly plastered to his head, droplets of water running down the sides of his face and vanishing down his neck. Viktor flees towards the bedroom and returns with a dry towel._

_“Yuuri, what did you do? What happened to you?” Viktor couldn’t hide the concern from his voice._

_After patting himself dry with the towel, Yuuri looks up and grins at him. In an instant, Viktor’s anger dissipates like blowing away billowing steam from a hot mug. “Viktor, I got something for you.”_

_If there is one thing that Viktor loves more than getting praise for his writing, it is receiving gifts. Especially from Yuuri. He smiles and holds himself back, letting Yuuri finish drying himself. He watches as Yuuri removes the satchel and places it on top of the table. He opens it and takes a small package out._

_Curious, Viktor peers over Yuuri to get a better look. Yuuri sees him and covers the package with his hands. Viktor groans, running out of patience waiting for what is supposed to be his gift._

_“Yuuri, what is it? Tell me now.” By then, Viktor has lost all pretense of calm and composure._

_There is no movement from Yuuri for a few seconds, and Viktor stares at his back and watches him take a deep breath. Then he faces forward and holds out the box towards Viktor. “For you.”_

_Despite already knowing that he is getting a gift, Viktor still finds himself smiling giddily at being proffered formally. He takes the box from Yuuri’s outstretched hand. It is a small, nondescript box, no bigger than the palm of his hand. He looks at Yuuri with questioning eyes, but Yuuri wouldn’t meet his gaze._

_Viktor’s curiosity winning over, he flips open the lid. He gasps at what he finds inside. He stares at it wordlessly for who knows how long. His throat feels like it is closing up and he feels an onslaught of emotion so sudden and so intense that his vision blurs. He later realizes that he is crying._

_“I—I didn’t know what to get you.” Viktor looks up from the box to find Yuuri blushing beet red, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and scratching behind his ear. Habits that Viktor know signify that he’s nervous. The sight couldn’t be any more adorable. “To thank you. For helping me get over my fear of writing. And for—,” Yuuri’s voice catches, and Viktor’s heart stops beating for a second. “—for everything,” Yuuri says in a nearly breathless whisper._

_As if a dam has been released inside him, Viktor suddenly wraps his arms around Yuuri and pulls him into an embrace. Yuuri tenses for a few seconds before he melts into the embrace, his arms going around Viktor’s torso._

_Viktor wants to tell him so many things, but he tells himself he will tomorrow. For tonight, he just wants to hold Yuuri._

_The next day, a simple silver chain hangs around Viktor’s neck and, underneath his dress shirt, just above where his heart is, rests a gleaming gold ring._

_***_

The sky is so blue that day, not a single cloud in sight. The orchestra starts to play and someone signals for Viktor to start walking. The opening notes of what must be Pachelbel’s Canon in D could be heard echoing across the ballroom.

The butler observes from his spot near the foot of the dais, that while the young master has a smile on his face, his eyes are vacant and unseeing. When Viktor reaches the end of the aisle, he steps to the side and is greeted by friends and family patting his back or his shoulders, congratulating him and giving him words of encouragement. He smiles shakily at them.

A hushed murmur goes through the crowd, and they all look up towards the far end of the aisle. Viktor also looks up at the figure in white in the distance. The butler notes how the young master’s gaze sweeps around the room, looking at all the happy and expectant faces of all their guests. Everyone is either smiling or laughing. It is, after all, a joyous occasion, made all the more special because two powerful families are allying themselves in marriage.

The music stops. Viktor and his bride walk up towards the dais to stand before the officiant. The whole room is buzzing with light and happiness—everyone is excited and delighted to be here—and yet, the butler couldn’t help but notice that Viktor is acting as if it were his funeral instead.

***

_Viktor remembers waking up that day and thinking that it’s gonna be a bad one. He just has this feeling that something very wrong will happen. He gets up anyway, and tells Yuuri that he needs to attend to a business matter in the city and will be back late._

_Yuuri calls out jokingly for him not to get lost. He smiles at Yuuri and waves goodbye, and he gets that feeling again that something terrible is about to happen. He shakes it off and walks outside. He walks a short distance towards the main road and then hails a passing cab._

_His business in the city takes up longer than anticipated and he ends up returning late in the afternoon. The gloomy weather does nothing to quell the anxiety in Viktor’s gut. He sees Yuuri standing by the dining table when he returns._

_Before he could even shrug off his coat, Yuuri turns to him, “Viktor, I’ve decided to move to America. A very well-established editor has agreed to take me in and publish my works.”_

_Viktor stares at Yuuri, feeling as if the floor beneath them has just opened up into a dark abyss. “Come again, Yuuri?”_

_“I said I’m moving to America. A very well-established editor—”_

_“No, no, that part I heard.” Viktor stops Yuuri mid-sentence._

_Yuuri sighs heavily and turns away. “Then why did you ask me to repeat myself then?”_

_“You decided without consulting with me?” Viktor blinks back the moisture in his eyes, and he tries to swallow the lump in his throat. He feels very hurt with Yuuri’s decision. “There are good publishers here who can—” He spies a letter lying open on the table, the wax seal visible and slightly familiar to him. He steps forward to take a closer look._

_“Viktor!” The steel in Yuuri’s voice startles him. “I already made my decision. I only wanted to tell you out of respect. Please! Let me make my own decision.”_

_It’s crazy, Viktor thinks to himself, how this day is unfolding. His hand goes up to touch the necklace around his neck, and his fingers close around the gold ring hanging off it. He stares at Yuuri’s back, silently wishing for him to turn around and face him. “Yuuri—,” He pleads. At this point, Viktor is not above begging._

_Yuuri moves away, back still turned against him, and busies himself with preparations for supper. “I leave tomorrow morning. You are free to stay here if you’d like. I don’t know what I’d do with the house, maybe I’ll sell it—,”_

_Viktor tunes out the rest of Yuuri’s ramblings. He hastily picks up his coat and turns around. When he opens the door, the rain is falling in sheets and visibility is almost close to nil. He feels tears fall down his eyes and he looks up at the sky. He closes the door and steps into the rain, letting it soak him to the bone._

_***_

“Now take the rings and say your vows.”

Viktor is jolted out of his memories by the officiant’s proclamation. He looks up and stares at the bride’s beautiful face, her porcelain skin, and her deep green eyes. He’s quite sure that she’s a wonderful woman with many excellent qualities, but at that moment, the only thought in his head is how much he wishes that those eyes were black instead.

_She’s not Yuuri_ , he reminds himself. He picks up the ring and takes her hand. He murmurs the vows and slides the ring on her finger. As the crowd clap appreciatively, Viktor's heart shatters into a million, tiny pieces.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Thank you for reading :-)
> 
> PS: I plan to write a sequel because this made me incredibly sad :(


End file.
